The hill repeats that never were
I always imagine in a proper runnist's repertoire is the ability to run in all terrains. Road, trail, hills, heat, horizontal rain, assorted wildlife - none of this should terrify the proper runnist.
I have also previously referenced that recently I felt like I could apply the moniker 'runner' to my name. But perhaps I should pause for a moment and reconsider, as there is a key area in which I am lacking. It's hills.
I don’t like hills.
It’s probably (definitely) due to the fact I effectively live on a river and its associated docks. There are no hills in rivers. Nor in docks. Elevation is rarer than hen’s teeth around here, and I feel all squishy with internal pride when I do my home made half marathon route and achieve a whole 27 feet!
(Mental gear change, but someone pointed out to me that some ducks and geese have TEETH and showed me it on the interweb. Fucking terrifying. And I can watch scary films in the dark by myself)
So I don’t really have hills in my repertoire, (or: mud, trails, trees, fields, cows, other countryside effluvia. I have pavements. And skunk. No, not the aromatic mammal. And no, not ME, but the local ‘wildlife’).
My local parKRace has what L and I refer to as ‘the Hill of Doom’ which is a steady bitch of a climb, and because it’s an out’n’back course, you do it twice. But it’s hardly nosebleed territory.
I therefore had a plan this morning, to find a hill and pound up and down, to address the woeful contribution I have made towards elevation in my stats. But it didn't come to fruition.
I set the alarm for a heart stopping 5am, so that I could get the bloody thing out of the way. Traversed the spooky and interestingly fragranced foot tunnel.
As the only hill - and fuck me, it’s a hill all right - is in Greenwich Park, the climax of it the path up to the Royal Observatory. The plan was to do what I believe is referred to in runnist parlance as ‘hill repeats’, where one applies one’s poor, blameless legs and startled lungs to said hill, and repeat the ‘up’ bit until you’ve done your set reps / been sick / heart’s exploded / eyes have bulged out of your head and rolled down said hill.
But, and I cannot stress STRONGLY enough how extraordinarily rarely this phrase has ever left my lips, (fingers? I am typing this after all...) I was TOO EARLY for the park to be open. The hill was shut.
My lungs and legs practically snogged me with delight. IRW threw a fucking MASSIVE paddy, and I think did that thing that toddlers do when they hold their breath in protest but actually pass out. Meh. Whevs love, I ain’t breaking into HM Royal Park for you.
So I completed a 5k, it was a bit fanny-about-ish due to the foot tunnel and stairs etc, so IRW got her revenge by calling me a fat, slow c-bomb and making me spank the final km. Well, spank for me.
Didn’t address the paucity of elevation in my stats, tho, did it? Thus, roping in the world’s most underwhelmed challenge ‘associate’....
L: what are we doing?
Me: climbing a hill
L: why?
Me: it’s another challenge....
L: never mind
(I have form. No one is more dismissive than an 8 year old)
...we hit the hill. And bless his little heart let me talk him into doing the über steep bit twice. I can neither confirm nor deny a large mint choc chip ice cream and the promise of Plants vs Zombies on the Xbox swayed his decision.
I was however shit out of luck for a third go.